


Matters of the Heart

by kalirush



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Angst, Family, Multi, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, One-Sided Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalirush/pseuds/kalirush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their happiness is killing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evil_Little_Dog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Frustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/289567) by [Evil_Little_Dog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog). 



> So, about a month ago, E_L_D published a story called [Frustrations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289567). Go ahead, go read it. It's only about 300 words, it won't take long.
> 
> Alright. Anyway, my initial reaction to that fic was, and I quote, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
> 
> Because I was so sad for Al. It took me most of a month to write this (admittedly, I was doing other things, like writing Blue Beetle fic for Yuletide, and writing tons of other fics for FMA exchanges, and getting horribly ill for like two weeks), but here it is. I feel better now.

At first, he tried to tell himself that it was just the way he’d respond to any beautiful woman. Winry was pretty, and he was a young man, and it was natural that he feel warm when she touched him. It was normal that the scent of her hair made him quiver.

It didn’t mean anything.

\----------------------

He tried to tell himself that it was just a crush. He’d had a crush on Winry as long as he could remember, after all. He and Brother had argued about it as children, but that was just play. He’d grown out of it, surely.

\----------------------

Ed and Winry must have thought he was asleep. He almost had been, when he heard them making love on the couch. They were obviously trying to be quiet- but not quiet enough.

Al should have felt embarrassed. He should have rolled his eyes at them, put a pillow over his head, and gone to sleep- or at least thumped a wall so they knew to cut it out.

He didn’t. He couldn’t stop listening. He could hear Winry’s breath hitch. She moaned, she cried out. Al found himself breathless, imagining her. And suddenly, lying there hard and ashamed in the dark, he understood what he’d refused to admit to himself for so long.

He was in love with Winry.

Winry, who was going to marry his brother in a month.

Al felt like he might throw up.

\-----------------------

Winry made pancakes the next morning. Al was up earlier than Ed; he was almost always up earlier than his brother. He wandered into the kitchen after he finished in the bathroom.

Winry turned as he walked in. “Come slice the bacon!” she ordered him, smiling. She was wearing Ed’s shirt, and nothing else. It fell to mid thigh. As she turned, it slipped off one shoulder, exposing creamy, bare skin.

“Sure, Winry,” Al choked out, and went to the ice box. He put the bacon on a cutting board, pulled a knife from the block, began cutting thin slices from the hunk of meat.

Next to him, Winry swept around the kitchen like she was dancing. Brother made her happy, Al thought. What she and Brother had done last night made her happy.

“Al!” Winry said suddenly, upset.

Al looked down. He’d cut himself, he realized distantly. His blood spattered on the wood of the counter.

\-------------------------

Al had to drive three towns over to find a bar where no one knew him on sight.

Ed would wonder where he’d gone, but Al didn’t care right now. He needed to think; he needed to not think. He definitely needed to not be in a house where his brother was sleeping next to Winry. Sleeping next to her, holding her, kissing her- Al forced himself to stop that train of thought before he crashed his new car. He finally stopped in Burlow. He’d never been there before, which recommended it. He did know that Burlow Steel Works was where most of the plating and parts for Rockbell Automail came from, for what that was worth. Pushing the thought of Winry and her automail away, Al went into the bar.

There were two bartenders- probably the owner and his adult son, by the look of them- and a smattering of patrons; probably regulars by the way that the bartenders glanced over at him with surprise when he walked in the door.

“What c’n’I get you?” the older man asked, and then he poured the whisky that Al ordered. Al’s hand throbbed, but the alcohol helped.

Al had spent the last few years lying to himself, he realized now. He had thought that he was going traveling because he wanted to see the world. He knew now that he’d been running away. He even knew what he had been running away from: Resembool, and that house, and the woman who loved his brother and not him. It was no wonder, Al thought, sardonically, that he’d always been so drawn to blondes in his many short, doomed love affairs. No wonder too that he’d always gone away from those encounters feeling empty and alone.

It was sort of a shame that Ed and Winry hadn’t got around to having sex back before Al had decided that he needed to visit Xing and the lands beyond, he thought, viciously. If they had, maybe he’d’ve realized the lie sooner. Now, they were going to be married, and they were happy, and Al wanted nothing more than to run again. If leaving wouldn’t mean explaining himself to Ed- either before he left, or after Ed hunted him down- Al would have been gone already.

When he asked for another drink, he told the bartender to leave the bottle. He was hoping that Winry’s blue eyes would get lost somewhere in the amber depths of the whisky, but somehow, no matter how much he drank, they were still there.

\-------------------

He woke up in a strange bed, alone, with his boots off. He searched his aching memory, and vaguely recalled being hauled upstairs by the men who ran the pub. Ashamed, he left money on the bed- enough, he hoped- and snuck back out to his car.

\---------------------

He might have avoided the pub owners back in Burlow, but he couldn’t avoid Ed. It was nearly noon by the time he pulled back up to the house in Resembool. Ed was sitting on the porch, one hand clasped in the other.

As Al pulled into the drive, Ed jumped up. “Al!” he cried. “Where the hell have you been?” Ed cocked his head, taking in Al’s vaguely disheveled appearance. “Are you okay?”

“I just... wanted to go somewhere,” Al said, lamely. “I’m fine, Brother.”

“Jeez, Al, the next time you ‘want to go somewhere’, leave a note or something!” Ed said, scowling. “C’mon. Winry’s working on Mr. Talman’s arm, but she made me promise to let her know when we found you. You can explain your need to suddenly disappear to her and her wrench.”

Al rolled his eyes. “I _am_ an adult, Brother,” he argued, as Ed dragged him into the house. “You don’t have to treat me like a kid. I am allowed to occasionally go out on my own if I want.”

Ed looked almost hurt as he glanced back at Al. “We’re not trying to treat you like a kid,” he said. “We were worried, jackass.”

Al shut up and let himself be dragged.

\--------------------

He tried to convince himself that he’d gotten it out of his system. He had had feelings for Winry, yes, but he had faced them, and come to terms with them. He had accepted that those emotions were hopeless and inappropriate, and moved on with his life.

It was better. He joked with Ed and Winry, argued with them. He finally got around to making dinner, too. It was rich with clarified butter and the spices that he’d brought from the East, wrapped tight in a box that he’d guarded like it was gold. When he’d been traveling, he’d imagined how Ed and Winry would react to the food: Winry’s face, flushing at the intensity of flavor; Ed, declaring that the food was badass and shoveling it in.

The reality was everything he’d imagined. Ed and Winry loved the meal- beef cooked tender in a spicy sauce, rice and vegetables drenched with gravy and yogurt (which Al tinted with turmeric and neglected to mention was made of milk). They both told him that they’d never tasted anything like it, and Ed even said that it put beef stew to shame. Al laughed and said that he’d have to cook it again for them sometime, and that maybe the new railroad that Mustang kept talking about would bring the spice trade to Amestris.

Al insisted on doing the dishes, too, since he’d made such a mess of the kitchen. He found dishes calming; the warm soapy water and the repetitiveness were comforting to him. He washed, he stacked, he dried. When he was done, he wrung out the dish cloth and hung it up. Then he pushed open the door to the living room.

He froze, there on the threshold. From where he was standing, he had a clear view of Ed and Winry on the couch. Winry was curled up in the corner of the couch, and Ed was leaning against her, a bowl of ice cream balanced on his stomach. They were reading. Winry had her arm curled casually, comfortably around Ed’s shoulders, her fingers idly carding through his bangs.

It was their eyes that undid him. Winry looked happy, as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Her eyes were lit with that characteristically Winry-ish passion as she flipped through her magazine. Ed, though- Ed looked peaceful. His eyes radiated a calm joy that Al couldn’t remember ever having seen there before. Al shut the door; backed away. He leaned back against the kitchen wall, heaving. He felt as though something was squeezing his chest so tightly that he could barely breathe.

He should be happy for them, he told himself. He should be pleased that the two people that he loved most in the world had found that kind of joy with each other. It shouldn’t feel like an icepick in his heart, like he was losing them both. Like he was losing _Winry_.

It was idiotic. He’d already lost her years ago. She’d always loved Ed, he told himself. She’d never seen _him_ that way.

Cheeks flushed red and lungs burning, Al ran.

\---------------------

The younger of the bartenders looked up when he entered. “Hey,” he said. “I wondered if you’d be back.”

Al sat down at the bar. His hands were shaking, and he tucked them into his lap. “Yeah?” he said, non-committally.

The bartender nodded. “You overpaid on the room,” he said. “Da took the extra and started you a tab. You got a name, by the way? Da just wrote you down as ‘that tall fella with the funny eyes’.”

Al blinked. “Al,” he told the other man.

“Dan,” the bartender offered. “You drinking the same thing you were the other night?”

Al nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

“Coming right up,” Dan said.

\----------------

This time, when Al told the bartender to leave the bottle, he didn’t. Dan leaned against the counter, the whisky bottle firmly in his hand. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” he asked.

Al flinched, glaring at his glass. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

Dan laughed. “No,” he said, “If you didn’t want to talk about it, you’d buy your own bottle of whisky and go drink yourself into a stupor in private. A man comes in once to drink himself into oblivion, it’s a lapse in judgment. He does it twice in as many weeks, he’s looking for someone to talk to. So- talk. Definitely a woman.”

Al clenched his fists, trying to stop his hands shaking. “Yeah,” he admitted bitterly. “A woman.”

“Thought so,” Dan said, putting the bottle away. He leaned back, looking at Al. “Man your age, it’s usually a woman. So, what’s the problem? Her family doesn’t like you?”

“She loves someone else,” Al said, staring into his glass.

“That’s a problem,” Dan observed.

Al huffed out a laugh, sharp and bitter. “She loves my brother,” he said.

“Thats- a bigger problem.” Dan leaned back. “Does the brother love her back? Man as good-looking as you, you might be able to talk her into changing her mind.”

Al shook his head. “I couldn’t-” he started. “My brother-” He set down his glass, running his hands through his hair. “We lost our parents when we were really young,” he explained. “And my brother took care of me. And then, there was an accident, and I was... um... sick. For years. And Brother, he gave up _everything_ to save me.” Al was definitely drunk. Not drunk enough to pass out, sensibly, but just drunk enough to babble to a stranger. “He joined the military because he thought they would help him take care of me,” he told the bartender. “He was always getting hurt. Bad enough to go to the hospital, sometimes. It was horrible; he was such an idiot. But he did it, in the end. He fixed me.” Al dropped his head into his hands. “He’s always loved her. And he’s happy now. And she’s happy. And they both deserve it, they deserve everything, but I just- I just want her to look at me like she looks at him.” His fingers clenched in his hair. “I’m a horrible person.”

Al felt rough fingers brush against his hand. “Hey,” Dan said. “Having feelings doesn’t make you a horrible person. It’s what you do about it that decides what kind of person you are.” Al looked up at him, feeling as though he might cry. Dan sighed. “Okay, big fella, you’re spending the night again. Let’s get you upstairs before I have to call Da to help me carry you.”

“Okay,” Al said, and staggered along next to the bartender.


	2. Chapter 2

Ed wasn’t waiting for him on the porch this time. Al parked the car and slunk gingerly into the house. For a moment, he thought the house was empty, and that he’d be able to go and shower and change in peace.

“Al?” Winry’s voice called out. Al froze. “You’re back!” she said, ducking into the front hallway with a basket of laundry.

“Yeah,” Al said. “Hi.”

Winry’s eyes narrowed as she looked him over. She set her basket down. Then she walked right up to him, grabbed his shirt collar, and dragged him down to her level. She frowned. “You’re hungover,” she accused.

“Um,” Al said. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was true, but he didn’t think agreeing with her was going to help.

Her eyes narrowed further. “Into the kitchen,” she ordered, pointing. Her tone was decidedly icy.

Al followed her into the kitchen and let himself be pushed into a chair. Winry busied herself in the kitchen in palpable silence. Finally, she produced a tumblerful of an evil-looking, slightly orangish concoction. “Drink up,” she ordered.

Al looked askance at the glass. “You’re mad at me,” he said. The smell of it made his stomach flip.

She glared at him, pointing to the tumbler. Al took the hint, and raised it to his lips. He got about one good swallow in before his tasted buds rebelled and he pushed it away, coughing. “That’s horrible!” he protested.

“Maybe that’ll teach you not to run off all night and come back reeking of alcohol,” Winry told him, tartly.

“I’m not even that hungover,” he protested sullenly. He stood up. “I better go change,” he said, not looking at her.

She put a hand on his arm. It was warm and calloused and strong on his bare skin. “Al,” she said. “What’s wrong? I know you’re not talking to Ed, either. He’s as worried as I am.”

Al swallowed. He pulled away. “Nothing,” he lied. “I’m fine.”

“You are _not_!” she said, punching his arm. “You’ve been... twitchy, ever since you got back from Xing. And now you keep disappearing all night drinking? What’s wrong, Al? Why can’t you just talk to us about whatever it is?”

But he couldn’t. These feelings were unforgivable, and Winry and Ed could never know. Al pulled farther away, feeling his heart clench in his chest. “It’s nothing, Winry,” he said, his voice small. “I’m fine.”

He turned, and left the room. He wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid seeing the disappointment and sadness in Winry’s eyes.

\----------------------

Al showered, and shaved, and stood looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, but he looked basically presentable. Blond hair cut short, clean shaven, and the Xerxean yellow eyes that some people called “weird” and other people called “exotic”. He glanced down the length of his chest- muscles that he’d earned since the Promised Day, and a light smattering of blond hair that was a new development in the last year or so. It was a good body, he thought. Handsome. Fit.

Al put a hand to the mirror, closed his eyes. Maybe it was his body’s fault, he thought. It wasn’t wrong to love Winry. It wasn’t wrong to love the way she was so crazy for automail, to delight in her brilliance and her compassion and her quiet- and not-so-quiet- strength. He could love her like a sister and still feel those things. It must be his body that wanted more; that made his stomach flutter when she touched him. That made him dream about her pale skin and blue eyes; that made him shiver when he caught her scent.

When he had been armor, all this had been so distant. No hormones, no blood- no dreams. Al was tired. It was agony now, being here, watching her with Ed.

Al wiped the mirror and hung up his towel.

\---------------------------

Al was packing when Ed walked in.

“Al, what do you want-” he was saying. He broke off as he entered the room and registered Al emptying his dresser. Ed froze. “What the hell are you doing, Al?” he asked.

Al swallowed. “I’m going back to Xing,” he said, mildly. Xing ought to be far enough. Ling and Mei would be happy to see him again, surely.

“What?” Ed said. “You’re not- I thought you were staying for the wedding, Al!”

“I guess not,” Al said. He didn’t look at Ed. Socks went into the pouch in the top of his suitcase, he thought.

“Why the fuck not?” Ed asked, his voice quiet and a little angry.

Al couldn’t think of any answer to that, so he settled for pulling a shirt out of his drawer and folding it neatly into his suitcase.

Ed caught his arm. “Look at me, dammit!” he said, his voice full of hurt.

Al’s stomach churned. He turned around slowly, still not saying anything.

Ed’s eyes were bright. “You’re the only family I have, Al,” he said. “Everyone else is dead. So you better have a damn good reason for not being there.” He let go of Al’s arm.

Al closed his eyes and breathed, steadying himself against the bed. “I’m sorry, Brother,” he said.

Ed stared at him for a moment, and then spun on his heels and stalked out of the room.

If he were a good person, Al thought, he’d stay.

He reached into his dresser and pulled out another shirt.

\--------------------

Winry came out of the house as he was putting his suitcase into the car.

“Al?” she said, tentatively. Al had heard the yelling from inside the house- Ed expressing pain in the only way he knew how.

“I’m sorry,” Al said, and reached for the door of the car. Suddenly, she was there, taking him by the arm, pulling him close. Al closed his eyes and swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to block out her presence.

Finally, she released him. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she said, turning her face up to him.

Al looked down into her eyes. That was almost the worst thing, he thought. He was so bad at masking emotion; everyone said so. He’d never gotten the knack of it after he’d been returned to a body that could show them. But somehow, neither Ed nor Winry seemed to have noticed this thing he couldn’t stop feeling. It was like they didn’t quite see him at all.

Al shook his head. “I’ll write,” he said, and he meant it. “I’ll leave my car with General Mustang when I catch the train in East. You or Ed can take the train out there and pick it up. Use it as long as you like.” He swallowed. “Actually, keep it. Call it a wedding present.”

“Al, you idiot,” she said, and glared at him. “We don’t want your car. We just want you here, with us.”

Al pulled the door open. “I’ll write,” he repeated.

He could see her in his rearview mirror as he drove away, her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes red.

\------------------------------

Al somehow found himself on the road to Burlow. It was only midafternoon; far too early to be drinking. Still, his hands were shaking. He was in no shape to be making the long drive to East City. It would be better to stop, and take a room for the night, he told himself. And at least he knew the place.

Dan was at the bar when Al walked in. He looked up, startled. Al sat down.

“Whisky again?” Dan asked, uncertainly.

Al shrugged, putting his shaking hands flat against the bar. He nodded.

Dan looked closely at him. “You get one,” he said, pouring it. “To steady your nerves. I won’t serve you after that.” He put the glass in front of Al.

Al picked it up and sipped at it. “I thought you were supposed to sell people alcohol,” he said.

“Sure,” Dan answered. “But I’m not giving a bottle to someone who looks as shocky as you.” He put the whisky back on the shelf behind him. “You leave here, you do what you like. But this is our place, and we decide who we’ll serve.”

Al nodded, sipping at his glass. “I should probably thank you.” He paused. “I’ll... I’ll need a room tonight,” he got out.

Dan nodded. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

Al sipped at his drink until it was gone, and then he stared at it, unable to think about doing anything else. His hands were steadier, he thought, but now he just felt numb. He needed to be farther away from Resembool, probably.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the empty glass when Dan reappeared in his field of vision. “Hey,” he said, waving a hand in front of Al’s face. “Al. You there?”

Al looked up at him. “Sorry,” he said, and then looked back down. “Damn. I can’t seem to stop saying that today. Doesn’t seem to help, though.”

Dan’s fingers brushed against his chin, tipping it up. Al was startled by the contact. “You look like someone tried to kill you,” he said. He sighed. “I get off in an hour, Al. If you want to come to my place.” He was strangely shy as he said it. “You look like you could use someone to talk to.”

Somewhere in the back of Al’s mind, he put together the tone of voice, and the touch, and the invitation. Dan, he realized suddenly, was _inviting him back to his place_. In a way that was probably not the usual way a guy invited another guy back to his place. Although, come to think, guys did not in general invite guys that they didn’t really know back to their places at all. Which was part of what had clued Al in.

Al froze, and Dan pulled back, fear flashing in his eyes. That was enough. Dan had been kind to him, and Al had left enough people in pain today.

Besides, he was right. Al probably shouldn’t be alone. “Thank you,” Al said, quietly.. “I- I need that. Thank you.”

\--------------------

Dan’s father showed up an hour later, and Al followed Dan out of the bar.

“It’s this way,” Dan said, nodding his head in the direction.

Al’s mind was racing as he followed the other man down the street. Was Dan expecting something from him? And more importantly, how did Al feel about the possibility that Dan might expect something?

Al knew that there were men who had a preference for other men. He’d spent time with Mr. Garfiel and his various boyfriends, after all. But Al had always known that he liked women.

Well, one woman, certainly. Other women, too, practically speaking.

Still, the possibility of... with a _man_... it wasn’t unpleasant. It probably should be, but it wasn’t.

“Al?” Dan said, touching his shoulder. “Hey- we’re here.”

Al blushed. “Sorry,” he said again.

“I thought you were done with the apologizing,” Dan said. “It’s fine. Come on in.”

Dan lived in a small flat on the second floor. It wasn’t especially messy, but it wasn’t kept all that clean, either. Al noticed dust bunnies in the corner.

“I know you haven’t eaten,” Dan said. “I’ll get us some food. And then you can tell me what happened.”

Dan pulled some cheese and sausage out of his breadbox and put them on the small, low table in the living room, along with an old loaf of bread that he inspected carefully for mold spots.

“I walked out on them,” Al said, softly, as Dan sat down.

Dan handed him a slice of cheese. “Eat,” he told him. “Have you actually eaten today?”

Al thought about it for a moment. “Not since... I guess, last night,” he said. He made a face. “Winry made me drink some horrible hangover remedy when I got home.” He bit into the cheese. It was sharp, and a little creamy. His stomach rumbled.

Dan laughed. “I always think the main point of those remedies is to punish you for getting your ass drunk in the first place.”

Al nodded glumly. “She was mad at me.”

“That why you left?” Dan asked, making himself a little sandwich.

Al shook his head. “They’re getting married in a month,” he said, staring at the food. “She was so happy when she showed me the ring. I just can’t take it anymore. It’s... it’s killing me. I thought, maybe if I just left, then it would get better. I’d forget her. And they have each other. They don’t need me.”

Dan cut a few slices of cheese and sausage and pushed them toward Al. “Eat,” he said.

Al ate. When he was done, he looked up at Dan. He had dark hair and dark eyes and swarthy skin. His hair was coarse, and there was a thatch of it poking out from the top of his t-shirt. He was probably around Al’s same age; maybe a little older. “Did you invite me here to sleep with me?” Al asked suddenly.

Dan recoiled. “No. I invited you here because I could see you were in a bad way,” he snapped.

Which wasn’t a denial that he might be interested, Al noted. “If you wanted to,” Al said, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Dan put down his sandwich. He looked at Al carefully, up and down, his face thoughtful. His eyes narrowed, considering. “Okay,” he said, finally, and shrugged.

He leaned across the table, put a hand on Al’s chest, and kissed him.

Dan tasted like cheese and sausage. His hand was heavy and warm where it pinned Al into the couch. This was... probably a bad idea, Al realized. But still, it had been so long since he had been touched. Months of _want_ and no fulfillment. And every time he’d been with a woman, he’d been haunted by Winry.

Dan didn’t remind him at all of Winry, he realized. He leaned into the kiss, feeling the roughness of Dan’s skin rasp across his cheek, the hard planes of his body where it was pressed against Al’s, his large hands.

Dan pulled away. “You sure you want this?” he asked.

Al nodded. “Please,” he whispered.

“Okay then,” Dan said, his voice rough. He reached over and started unbuttoning Al’s shirt. Al reached up, his hands shaking.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re beautiful,” Dan told him much later, after they’d cleaned themselves off and were lying together in Dan’s bed.

Al looked down at himself. He could feel his face growing hot.

“You just sucked me off, but _that_ makes you blush?” Dan asked, amused.

“It’s...” He paused. “I was... sick for so long, and then recovering. I’m not used to people noticing how I look. I don’t know what to say to it.”

“Usually, you say thanks,” Dan told him, cocking his head to one side. “Or return the compliment. You should practice; you’re going to run into the problem again.”

Al could feel his face getting hotter. “Thanks,” he said. “Um, you’re nice-looking too.”

“Quick learner,” Dan said. “I guess I should have expected it.”

Al closed his eyes and breathed, letting himself focus on the beating of his heart and the warmth of Dan’s body against his skin.

Dan shifted. “I know what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t love you back,” he said, his voice rumbling against Al’s back. “And I know what it’s like to love someone you shouldn’t love. To feel like you’re wrong just for feeling it- I know that.”

Al tensed, sorrow flooding back into his body like a poison. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

“You’ll always love her,” Dan told him, his voice so blunt as to be cruel. Al rolled away, covering his face with a hand, struggling to control the tears that pricked behind his eyelids. Dan ignored him. “That’s what I learned. You’ll always love her, so there’s no point fighting it. But loving her isn’t what’s killing you. Letting it stop you from living the rest of your life, that’s what hurts. Letting it cut you off from the people you care about is what’s driving you crazy.”

Al pushed himself up. “How do I-” he started. “I don’t know-”

“Loving her doesn’t mean you’ll never love anyone else,” Dan told him. “Love her, sure. But let yourself be with other people too. If you don’t, this will eat you up.”

If he hadn’t just... done what he had done with Dan, Al reflected, he wouldn’t have believed that what the other man was suggesting was possible. Now, though, his body relaxed from sex that had been far removed from the longing that had bruised his heart, it seemed... conceivable, at least.

Dan sat up. “You can stay here tonight,” he told Al. “But after you go tomorrow, don’t come back.”

“What- why?” Al said, hurt.

Dan looked over at him. “You don’t need to drink yourself out of having to face your problems,” he told Al. “And you can’t see me again.” His face turned fierce. “This isn’t a relationship, and I can’t have people thinking I’m queer. I have to live in this town.”

Al wanted to protest, to argue that it wasn’t like that, that it wasn’t fair. But Dan was right. Al didn’t even know the other man’s last name, much less anything about him other than that he had been kind, and he was a bartender, and he liked to sleep with men. And Dan didn’t know anything about Al at all. Al had used Dan to feel something other than despair for a few hours. He couldn’t ask anything more of the man. “I understand,” Al said. “But I can stay for tonight?”

Dan nodded. “I always was a sucker for a handsome man with a sob story,” he said, his lips quirking upward.

“Thank you,” Al said. “Thank you for everything.”

Dan ran his fingers idly through Al’s hair. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Really.”

\-------------------

Dan was already gone when Al woke up in the morning. There was coffee and a slice of buttered bread waiting on the table. Al ate and showered and dressed, feeling- something. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. He walked the few blocks back to the bar, and got in his car, and drove.

He was surprised to find that he was driving back to Resembool.

Ed was there almost before he’d gotten out of the car. As Al turned to face him, Ed punched him, his fist impacting squarely with Al’s jaw. “What the hell are you doing back here, Al?” he shouted, angrily. “Winry cried all last night-”

Al slid down the side of his car, his head spinning. His face felt hot, and he suddenly realized that he was crying. Once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. He buried his face in his knees.

“Al?” he heard Ed saying, distantly. “Dammit. I’m sorry.” And then Ed’s arms were around him, and Al felt like he was fifteen again and so gloriously and painfully not in control of his body; he felt like he was six again and crying in his big brother’s arms. The pain and shame and fear and confusion of the last months and years broke through him like a wave, and he sobbed, clutching helplessly at Ed’s shirt.

“Hey,” Ed said, alarmed. And “Al.” And eventually, “It’s okay. I’m sorry, Al. It’s okay.”

“No,” Al gasped. “No, don’t be sorry. Please.”

“I shouldn’t have hit you,” Ed said, resting a hand on the top of Al’s head. “I’m sorry for that.”

Al nodded. He leaned his head silently against Ed’s collarbone.

“You are such a crybaby,” Ed said, teasing.

Al pulled away. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Ed said. “I... know this kind of thing is hard for you sometimes, still. It’s okay.”

Al shook his head, leaning back against the car door. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that.”

Ed nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Brother?” Al said, after a while. “What would you think if I told you that I liked men?”

Ed turned to look at him sharply. “Wait, what?” His face scrunched up. “Like, _liked_ them? Like Garfiel?”

Al shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “I think I like women too.” He leaned his head back. “But I slept with a man last night. It was good.”

Ed made a face. “Way too much information, little brother,” he told him. “The less I have to think about your naked ass, the better.”

Al shrugged. He felt numb, like he’d thrown himself against a wall so many times it didn’t even hurt anymore.

“Hey,” Ed said, frowning suddenly. “This isn’t what’s been bothering you all this time, is it? Because I don’t give a shit who you sleep with. You’re my brother, and I love you, and I don’t give a damn what people think. And if anyone says shit to you, I’ll kick their ass if you need me to.”

Al huffed out a breath. “I can look after myself, Brother,” he said. “I could always beat _you_ , after all.”

“Still,” Ed said, looking into the distance. “Why wouldn’t you talk to us? You’ve been weird ever since you came back from Xing.”

Al turned his face away. “I wanted someone I couldn’t have,” he whispered. “Someone who didn’t love me.”

Ed’s face scrunched up again. “Who is it?” he said. “Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

Al couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes. “Not everything can be solved by kicking someone’s ass, Brother.”

“Lots of things can, though,” Ed said, grinning. “Seriously, though, Al- who wouldn’t want you? Whoever it is, they’re losing out.”

Al sighed. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I just need to get over it.”

“Well, don’t worry us so much while you’re doing it,” Ed said. He stood up and held out a hand to Al. “C’mon,” he said. “Winry’s waiting.”

Al took his hand, and followed him into the house.

\----------------

Winry was beautiful in her wedding dress. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes sparkled, and when Ed pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she glowed with happiness. Al breathed. It was okay, he told himself. People always cried at weddings, and no one had to know that his tears weren’t entirely happy.

Later, he made a point of asking lots of people to dance- including a very surprised Brigadier-General who nonetheless agreed to let Al spin him around the dance floor. Captain Hawkeye watched from the sidelines, her expression by turns bemused and thoughtful.

Paninya caught up to him near the punch bowl. She was wearing a dress for once; a silky, mustard-colored thing that set off her dark skin. “Alphonse Elric,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You sure turned out to be a looker under all that armor.”

As she dragged him out onto the dance floor, it occurred to him that Paninya didn’t remind him all that much of Winry, either.


End file.
